


It's over, you lost.

by fishyflame



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Afterlife, Canon Compliant, Dead Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Dead TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Dead Wilbur Soot, Death, Gen, Ghosts, Grief/Mourning, How Do I Tag, I'm Bad At Tagging, Not Beta Read, Song: Who Lives Who Dies Who Tells Your Story, Spoilers for 1/3, i don't know what to tag, this was supposed to be short, uh, 🦀Tommy's gone🦀
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 19:22:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29862891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishyflame/pseuds/fishyflame
Summary: Tommy dies, a server grieves. There's some familiar faces in the afterlife.Tommy dies, Tubbo doesn't know how to cope. What's left for him?Tommy dies, they remember. The memorials are erected and people move on.-This was supposed to be around ~900 words. It's not.
Relationships: Cara | CaptainPuffy & Sam | Awesamdude, Cara | CaptainPuffy & TommyInnit, Clay | Dream & TommyInnit, Jschlatt & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Jschlatt & Wilbur Soot, Jschlatt & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, No Romantic Relationship(s), Ranboo & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Kudos: 44
Collections: Completed stories I've read





	It's over, you lost.

_ Who lives… _

Tubbo was lost. He was in denial. He was shocked into silence, into coping with…  _ his death _ like this. But it wasn’t his death. Tommy wasn’t really gone. Nothing had happened. It was fine. Tommy was going to come out of the prison as soon as the security issue was resolved. And they’d laugh about the fact that Tommy was imprisoned while he was marrying Ranboo. And they’d laugh over the opposing hotels and the joking business rivals. But this was what happened. This is how it all ended. Not in fire, or fighting, or protecting his nation. No, Tommy died after being beaten to death by his abuser in a prison he wasn’t even supposed to be in! And Tubbo was lost without him. It was supposed to be the two of them versus the world: the two of them versus Dream. But Tommy had lost his final battle with Dream. And it was over. He was dead.

He expected that he’d die first. It wouldn’t be Tommy. Tommy just didn’t die. He was too stubborn to die. Sure he lost his first life in the Final Control Room. But he still didn’t give up. He threw himself into the duel versus Dream and died again. He never died in a trivial way. He was supposed to go out with a bang, fighting. But no, it was like this – Tommy lost his final battle. Tommy died. Tubbo expected that he’d die first. After the events on the mountain, he was fully prepared to die, to die for Tommy. But no, Tommy wouldn’t let him go. ‘What am I without you?’ he said.

‘Yourself.’ Maybe that had been true once. Tommy could live without Tubbo. He coped before Tubbo, and he could cope without him. But Tubbo? It was different. Tubbo had always been Tommy’s side kick, he didn’t know who he was without him. He was lost.

There was no one to blame for Tommy’s death, besides Dream. But he couldn’t blame Sam, or Ranboo, or Puffy, or anyone else on this godforsaken server. They weren’t at fault. It was Dream’s fault, like always, and Tubbo wanted nothing more than to storm into the prison and  _ eliminate  _ him. God knows he deserved it. God knows that Tommy didn’t deserve to die, to die like he did. But Tubbo’s anger had to go somewhere. God isn't listening to any of them. So the anger went into silent rage, aggressively building his hotel, and then locking himself away in his bunker in Snowchester. He was alone, because no one could replace Tommy. He was alone, because he shut himself off from the rest of the world, from the offers of help, from people who claimed that it was okay. It wasn’t okay. Tubbo didn’t know what to do, he was lost, he was  _ nothing  _ without Tommy. 

Tommy had died, and Tubbo had lived. Tommy had been brutally murdered by his abuser in the prison. Tubbo had been building his hotel while Tommy was entrapped in the prison. He was claustrophobic, and Dream had abused and manipulated him in exile. Tommy died, Tubbo lived. He was finally alone.

TommyInnit was dead, and Tubbo missed him. 

* * *

  
_ Who dies… _

It was over. Finally, finally it was over. Tommy died. Maybe he’d lost but he was finally at peace. No more wars, no more fighting, no more death over the most trivial things. It was peaceful. The afterlife was peaceful. It was an infinite white void, peaceful but unsettling. There was no time passing visually, no sound, no feeling. There was no wind blowing, no perfume smell of flowers, no acrid smells of gunpowder and destroyed homes. It was peaceful. 

Actually, that’s a lie. It couldn’t be peaceful. He was in the infinite void with Wilbur Soot and Jschlatt after all. And Mexican Dream. There would be no peace with those three. And adding Tommy to the mix would just make everything more chaotic. At least one day. He needed to settle down first. He was still shaking with fear and rage after the events of the prison. Maybe he was grieving too. Grieving for the life he had, the life he could’ve had, if Dream hadn’t fucked everything up.

Wilbur was the first to greet him in the void. He ran up to him, silently because there was no noise in the void, and hugged him. Tommy flinched and tried to hit him and Wilbur immediately backed off. “Tommy?” 

“Wilbur?” Tommy turned around cautiously, because the last time he saw Wilbur, the real Wilbur, t had been before he had been stabbed by Phil.

“You shouldn’t be here…” Wilbur said slowly, “You weren’t supposed to be here for years!” His voice raised and Tommy flinched. 

“Wilbur. Tone it down. Look.” Schlatt pointed to Tommy. He was shaking, and although his bruises from his encounter with Dream were fading, they were still a dull red and obvious on his pale skin.

“What happened to you Tommy.” It didn’t feel like a question, it was more of statement, or an exclamation. 

“Dream.” One word, one solitary word, summed everything up. Of course it was Dream! Of fucking course. It would always be Dream. Tommy was dead, and it was Dream’s fault. Tommy was dead and he died at the hands of Dream. Again. Like every other time. Tommy was weak again and he died to Dream.

The void was quiet, except for the obvious quiet rage of Wilbur. He was plotting because he was fuming. His little brother died at the hands of his abuser, in the prison that was supposed to mean Tommy was safe from Dream. How did Dream even get the means to kill Tommy? “Tommy…” Wilbur started tentatively, “How did you die?” 

Schlatt snorted, “Way to be blunt Will.” 

Wilbur glared at him and was about to start cussing him out, when Tommy started speaking, “He… he, uh… He beat me to death.” Well, that was blunt.

“That son of a bitch.” Wilbur muttered darkly. Dream was going to pay, Dream was going to pay for hurting– killing his little brother.

Of all the possibilities of the afterlife, Tommy didn’t expect to be stuck with his brother, who was manically making plans for Dream’s demise; the ex-president of his old home that was now blown to kingdom come, who was just conjuring alcohol from the air; and Mexican Dream, who was murmuring rapidly to himself in Spanish. This was truly a comical band of, Tommy tried to think of a word to sum up the group, dead people worked. He was dead and he was in the infinite void with Wilbur Soot, Jschlatt and Mexican Dream. What a lifestyle. Or death-style. Huh, he was dead now. And he didn’t care. He was free from Dream’s grasp. Free from all the shit that was pushed onto him, all the shit he was blamed for. 

He was dead and he was missing people. He was missing Tubbo. Tubbo and Ranboo, and Sam and Puffy, and Eret and Foolish, and even Techno and Phil (all though god knows he knew that they didn’t miss him). He was missing his hotel and his little dirt shack. And even the L’Manberg crater, and Techno’s base and Eret’s Castle. He was dead and he was missing all this stuff. But nothing could be done. He was dead and he’d accepted this. He wasn’t going back. Tommy hoped that Tubbo was coping without him, although logically he knew he wasn’t. Afterall, they were two sides of the same coin, two halves of a whole. If Tommy was so distraught and lost at the thought of losing Tubbo on that mountain, god knows that it was the same the other way around. Tubbo wasn’t okay, but at least he had Ranboo. They better take care of each other, he thought. 

TommyInnit was dead and he was fine with that. 

* * *

_ Who Tells Your Story? _

When Captain Puffy found out that TommyInnit was dead, she cried. Full on sobbing because a  _ child  _ had been taken away from this world too fucking early. Damn, she didn’t normally swear, but this was time to break her rules. God knows no one else was adhering to rules, moral or otherwise. Bad and Ant and Punz were celebrating in Tommy’s house for God’s sake. 

So Puffy made a shrine to a child who died too young. He was sixteen. He shouldn’t have been in the wars, or the exile, or the explosions. He shouldn’t have lost his brother to his father. His father shouldn’t have abandoned him to choose an anarchist pig, who he treated better than both of his sons, and his grandson. Puffy made a shrine to TommyInnit, the kid who died brutally at the hands of the man who abused and manipulated in exile. And then she broke. She wept for the kid that Tommy had once been, she wept for the kid who had lost everything. Because Tommy was once happy. Maybe before the Independence War. Maybe after they won their independence, despite everything they lost during that time. 

But the kid who was once happy was dead. He was dead and they were grieving. Everyone was grieving. But maybe, if the same people cared in his life, he wouldn’t be dead. Maybe, instead of blaming all of the problems on the server on him, they could’ve owned up to the fact that, while Tommy had been at fault sometimes, they caused problems too. And that the majority of the problems could be pinned on Dream. It was his fault that Tommy was dead after all. Puffy hated every person who was grieving when they could’ve done something different, because maybe he wouldn’t be dead. That included herself. It included Sam, who could’ve gotten Tommy out of the prison after the  _ week  _ long lockdown. It included Jack, who wanted to kill Tommy and was now taking his hotel, but was now mourning him. It included fucking Philza, who, maybe if he was there for his sons, could’ve stopped any of this happening; the disc war as an example. 

TommyInnit was dead, and people mourned, whether or not they had any right to. TommyInnit was dead. They’d lost, for one final time, to Dream. 

**Author's Note:**

> Look, canon broke me, and this is how I cope.
> 
> Also, for those people who are following my fic 'Kill me, and tell the stars you' won', I haven't actually started the next update yet, so maybe no update today. Also, probably gonna start updating on weekends now, instead of Fridays. Maybe last Friday update? Still gonna try do weekly posts though, if I manage.  
> My socials:  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/fishyflame_)  
> [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/fishyflame)


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